


Quite the Homecoming

by mrandmrhale2



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Stiles' misses Derek, gah sterek i can't even, some language I think?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrandmrhale2/pseuds/mrandmrhale2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been spending a lot of time at Derek’s loft since he left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quite the Homecoming

Stiles spent a lot of time at Derek’s loft after he left. Sometimes, he would flip through the few books he had left behind, thumbing through the worn pages, his eyes skimming the faded words. Other times he would simply sit on the staircase, his elbows propped up on the step above him, and his legs crossed at the ankles.  
He came often, but never for very long. 

 

It was too much.

 

Scott came with him at first, offering as much comfort as he could. But he just didn’t understand. How could he? Stiles’ crush on Derek flourished quickly, and randomly. It was almost an overnight revelation; he woke up one morning with this pressure in his chest and he just knew.  
But by then it was too late. Derek was gone.

 

 

There was something different about the loft that night, Stiles observed. It was too still, too serene. Like the calm before the storm.

 

He didn’t dwell on the anticipatory feeling that was bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Instead, he did what he always did. Let his backpack slide off of his shoulder and fall to the ground with a thud, kicked off his shoes, and padded into the kitchen. He’d left a book on the counter the other night, one he’d actually bothered to try and read, and was anxious to pick up where he had left off. He skidded to a halt when his eyes fell on the back of a dark head of hair- longer than he remembered- and the familiar, muscular shoulders garbed in the same black t-shit that was too-tight in all the right places. 

 

“You stopped just before the best part,” Derek said, his voice coming out a little gruffer than usual, as he set the book down. 

 

Stiles remained frozen, every single word he’d wanted to say in this moment caught up in his throat, making it hard to breathe. He was here. He was actually here. After months of absence and no clue as to whether or not Derek was even still alive, here he was. 

 

Finally, he turned, and the air rushed out of Stiles lungs in a whoosh. God, he was even more beautiful then he remembered. 

 

The two men stared at each other, not speaking, barely even daring to breathe. When Stiles was able to rediscover how to work his tongue, he was able to get out, “Wh-What are you doing here?”

 

Derek raised an eyebrow and smirked, “I live here.”

 

Instead of the sarcastic comment that wanted, desperately, to make its way out of his mouth, all Stiles could do was gape. 

 

Making his way out from behind the counter, Derek slowly moved closer to Stiles. He stopped with about a foot of space between them, “The real question is, what are you doing here?”

 

Stiles ducked his head, staring intently at his feet as he attempted to stammer out a response. He tried clearing his throat when the only sounds that would emerge were unintelligible mumblings, but nothing seemed to help. Finally, Derek sighed, and gripped Stiles chin, forcing him to look him in the eyes. 

 

“Why are you here, Stiles?” he whispered, his hazel gaze sweeping over his flushed cheeks, memorizing each mole and freckle scattered across his face before finally returning to his eyes.

 

“I- you… you left.” When all Derek did in response was nod, Stiles took a step back. The distance was meant to clear his head, but all it achieved was giving him a better view of the fine specimen of man- wolf? - that stood before him. “You left, and you didn’t tell anyone where you were going. No note, no phone call, not even a damn text message.” His voice grew louder and stronger with each passing moment. Derek stood in silence, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, as he listened to Stiles’ rant. “I was worried sick. Hell, we all were! You can’t just abandon us, Derek. Alpha or Beta or whatever, you were still a part of this pack. And you just… left.” 

 

“I had to leave.”

 

Stiles huffed, his hands coming up to his head to grip his hair, “You didn’t have to do anything! No one held a gun to your head, you made the conscious decision to walk out on us. Why, Derek?”  
He sounded broken, and for a split second Derek considered closing the distance between them and do what he’d been dying to for months. But now was not the time. There were still things to be said before he could take that next step. 

 

“Nothing I can say is going to make it easier for you to understand,” he said, closing the distance between them again, “but I’m sorry that I hurt you, Stiles.”

 

He snorted, and turned his head sharply to the side, muttering, “You couldn’t hurt me.”

 

“Stiles-”

 

“I didn’t care! Okay? I was fine without you. It’s the pack I was talking about.”

 

“Stiles,” he whispered, his hand coming up to cradle his cheek, “you were all I thought about.”  
Stiles’ breath hitched, but he still refused to look up. “Every night, before I fell asleep, you were the last thing that came into my mind. The only person I truly missed.”

 

“Are you lying?” The question was barely a whisper, and if it weren’t for his werewolf senses, he wouldn’t have heard it.

 

With the hand that wasn’t cradling Stiles’ face, Derek grabbed his wrist, and brought it up to his chest, so his palm was flat against it. “Feel my heartbeat? Steady.”

 

Stiles sucked in a breath, and his eyes flitted up to Derek’s. “I missed you, too.”

 

His reply was to firmly plant his lips on Stiles’. A deep moan came from the wolf as he immediately melted into his arms. The two gripped each other tightly, attacking with lips and tongue. 

 

“You can’t… do that… again,” Stiles spoke through the drugging kisses, his breathing ragged. 

 

Fisting his hands in Stiles’ shirt, he answered, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

They broke apart after a few minutes, both trying to resupply their brains with oxygen, but neither willing to be the first to let go. 

 

“Well,” Derek began, ginning at Stiles in one of his rare, authentic smiles, “this was one hell of a homecoming.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Stiles knotted his fingers in his wolf’s hair and brought him down for another kiss, “Wipe that stupid grin off your face and get back to making it up to me, kay?”

 

“With pleasure,” he growled, and spent the rest of the night making sure that Stiles knew that he would never leave him again.


End file.
